


Quiet Moments

by PompousPickle



Category: Borderlands
Genre: F/M, more Krieg angst, piano abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 00:43:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4685771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PompousPickle/pseuds/PompousPickle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finally, at last, a moment of peace for Krieg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet Moments

**Author's Note:**

> Like many of my Krieg-fics, this was written from the point of view of his "sane" voice.

The bar in Sanctuary isn’t really what you would expect from a place run by Moxxi. It’s kind of quiet. There’s murmuring going on from all angles. But for the most part, the place is pretty dull. Never expected you to like that much.

Turns out you like anywhere She goes. Can’t say I blame you. Hell, I like it too. Stop staring at her like that though. You’re going to creep her out. That is, if you haven’t already completely crossed the point of no return.

Who am I kidding? We’ve both passed that point a long time ago.

The others are sitting at the bar, shouting, laughing, drinking. Normal things one would do after a day of killing bad guys. I can just barely hear them over the sound of you, tapping your fists on the table, mumbling incessantly about cats and sofas made of skin. And beyond that, I can make out a faint humming coming from her lips. She slides down on the piano bench at the corner of the room.

We stare, for a while. For a long time. I’m sure she’s noticed. Shit, I’m sure Salvador and Axton, rosy with liquor, have noticed by now. No one has said anything though. Why would they? It’s not like we’d be able to respond.

She doesn’t play the piano elegantly or gracefully. She plays it in the same way she attacks. She’s cautious and curious, yet strong and full of life. She plods at the piano, as though trying to remember what the monks have taught her, but still trying to find her own way.

She tells me stories about the monks sometimes, about the Abbey. She doesn’t think we can understand. To be fair, I don’t think half of us can. But you like listening to the sound of her voice. You like listening to her plod at the piano. And that’s okay with me.

Oh god. She’s looking this way now. She’s looking at us. Please don’t stand up. Don’t say anything. Don’t _do_ anything. Our muscles are twitching. Our heart is pounding. Ah lord this is hopeless. I’ll just embarrass myself as alw-

Wait. She’s smiling. Or, as much as she ever smiles. And she’s nodding. No. What are you doing? Don’t stand up. Don’t go over there. God, she’s grimacing now. She probably thinks you’re going to break the piano. _I_ think you’re going to break the piano. I can feel it in your arms, begging to crush something, trying to snap it.

You don’t want to do that. We don’t want to do that. Just sit down. Sit by her side for all I care. Just sit down and try not to cause a scene. No one in here deserves to see that side of you. Not tonight.

And so we do. We sit down on the bench, which lets out a creaking moan underneath our weight. Hey, easy now! Don’t let your hands fall so hard on the keys. Come on, un-tense those muscles. Stop being so…you’re not listening to me at all, are you? Great. Now the whole bar is listening to the ruckus we’re making out of this perfectly good piano.

And now Maya is touching our hands. Nothing sharp or harsh. Just resting her palms on top of our hands, gently. “Hey, easy there. You aren’t carving in ribcages. You don’t need to press so hard.”

And that makes you stop in your tracks. Suddenly, your fingers become as light as damn butterflies. Had that been your gambit the whole time? I’m a little mad that I didn’t think of it, to be honest. Or maybe I did think of it. I’m not sure where the line crosses anymore between you, me, and _us_.

But right now, that doesn’t matter. She’s touching me and that’s all I need. She sees me as a human and not a monster, if only for a moment. And nothing else matters. She’s guiding our fingers across the keyboard with eyes. And you are so enraptured by her, so locked in focus on the task at hand. For once, I can hear the music. For once, I can enjoy these quiet moments.

So I let myself drift away.

I can feel the warmth of her hands, see the tiny smile sitting on her lips. My whole heart is buzzing and for once it feels like things will be okay. I can think about a piano. About a woman in front of it.

She used to laugh. She used to smile and she used to play all kinds of songs.

I can almost see her. I can almost remember.

Can you?

What was her name?

She was so bright. She’s so bright and plays music over and over.

The same song. Over and over.

I can almost remember

What were her eyes? What was her hair? What was her _name_?

A mother. A wife. Mine? Someone else’s? It’s almost there. It’s so close I can almost grab it. My fingers feel frantic. I’m itching for the answer because I can taste it on my lips what was it what was it. What was her name? What was her-

“WHAT WAS HER NAME?” I start screaming. Again and again. Fingers and elbows pounding at the keys. Hands broken from Maya, rubbing themselves raw on the keys. I can feel mucus in our throat, rising up as you spit out the words relentlessly. “SUCH BRIGHTNESS SUCH LIGHT I CAN’T REMEMBER WHAT WAS IT WHAT WAS IT.”

Maya is saying something. There are firm hands on our shoulders. Someone is grabbing us. The Commando. Mumbling about drinks. Talking about killing bandits to calm us down. Kill. Kill. You want to kill. You want to drown out her thoughts with blood.

The others are rushing us out now, the Commando, the Gunzerker, even the Assassin. They all want to make the bar safer. Safer without us. Maya is still there though, standing stock-still by the piano. She’s staring. Watching us go. She’s gone. A bright light in a dark distance.

Nothing good can come of quiet moments.


End file.
